


Is He or Isn't He?

by LadySilviana



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Boners, Canon Gay Character, Crushes, Eliot is on his game, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mostly Cannon Compliant, Mutual Pining, Seduction, awkward Quentin, because there is never enough of Eliot and Quentin, except obviously queliot, fantasy blowjob, hot boys should touch each other, some nsfw, though really its more like pre-queliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-01-10 13:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12300258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilviana/pseuds/LadySilviana
Summary: (This was supposed to be a one shot but it turned out the story demanded more chapters from me).Eliot bit his lip, studying the exposed curve of Quentin’s neck where it joined his shoulder, the skin smooth and inviting. Quentin’s hair fell loosely and sensuously back, caressing his shoulders. It was all Eliot could do to keep from ravaging the other’s neck and he had to remind himself that he was taking this slow. Anything too boisterous and he risked sending the other man fleeing to his room. This seduction would be more methodical, more teasing…...Sensual- a word that until that day Quentin had only read about but never experienced; never really understood; had no frame of reference for. But then Eliot’s fingers had spelled it out for him, had traced it in his skin. Quentin knew then the meaning of that word. From then on that’s what sensual would be to him- Eliot’s hands caressing his body.





	1. Is He or Isn't He?

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, after having read most of the Magician's fanfics online and still not getting enough of Eliot and Quentin I decided it was time to write my own. Seriously though- They are just so fun to imagine together I can't help it. Also, I realize we are way past season 1 at this point but whatevs. There is just too much time till season 3 and something has got to be done to fill it, right? I don't own The Magicians. 
> 
> Continuing the porch scene at the Physical Kid's cottage, S1E2. Eliot offers a massage to help Quentin relax in the aftermath of the Beast's appearance and applies his powers of seduction while being a tease.

Eliot flicked the butt of his cigarette over the porch and settled back into his chair, throwing a quick glance at Quentin as he did so. The younger student had gotten up from the table once more, his back towards Eliot, shoulders slumped and head down. He was no longer freaking out but was obviously still miserable.

Not surprising, since expulsion from Brakebills was a strong possibility. The thought alone had made Eliot shudder. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Especially not on Quentin. At this point, he was already fully invested.

Sure, it might have started as a silly game between him and Margo- one they had played many times at that. It was the “Is he or Isn’t he Bi” game, crafted specifically for these awkward, nervous types of boys who likely never even wondered if they liked cock.

In Eliot’s experience, they _always_ turned out to be bi.

But Eliot realized that it was more than just seduction at stake this time around. Several weeks of hanging out with a fumbling, jittery Quentin had –beyond all odds- resulted in some genuine affection. Eliot referred to it grudgingly as his “crush.”

(“A crush? Ew, really? Eliot we don’t get crushes on people!”- was Margo’s enlightened response).

Except now he did and the question still remained to be answered- “Is he or Isn’t He?”

Eliot straightened out his navy blue cashmere sweater and casually cleared his throat.

“You are not going to make this situation better by moping, you know,” he said in his slightly haughty, matter-of-fact way.

Quentin made a small noise that sounded like a half-laugh, half-choked down sob. He did not turn around.

“No, I suppose not,” Quentin sniffled a little and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

“What would you suggest then?”

“I suggest relaxing,” Eliot prompted calmly.

“How would I do that?” Quentin sounded exasperated.

  
“We could start with a massage.”

There, the bait was thrown.

“A- a massage?” Quentin did turn around then, eyebrows quirked quizzically. “Are.. um, you offering one?”

“Well, naturally.” Now that Quentin’s attention was back on him, Eliot took a moment to stretch languidly, working invisible kinks out of his own back. This was all for show of course. He wanted the younger man to get a good look at the beautiful, lean lines of his body. Eliot slowly rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, inwardly satisfied with how marvelously taunt the muscles of his forearms were beneath his pale skin.

“No one’s given me a back massage since Jules,” Quentin said, off hand.

“I bet she wasn’t as good as I am,” Eliot replied. “As Margo can testify- I am quite skilled in that department. My fingers were just made for working out tension.”

Ah, there it was. The double entendre. One of his favourite parts about this game. He followed up the statement with a demure glance from under his lashes.

Quentin’s mouth was partially opened as he looked at Eliot with mild confusion, seemingly trying to say something that just wouldn’t come out. After several attempts Quentin gave up, wrapping his arms protectively around himself as he often did when he felt awkward, his hands shoved under his armpits.

A momentary panic overtook Eliot. Maybe this time he was wrong. Maybe “He Isn’t” after all---

“Yeah, ok, sure,” came the quiet response finally and Eliot tried very hard for the relief not to show on his face.

“Good!” the older magician said, leaning over to grab a cushion from one of the other chairs and plopping it on the ground between his legs. “In that case come sit your ass down here before I get tired of waiting on you and retract the offer.”

Quentin gave him what might have been a shy smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he walked over and sat down on the cushion between Eliot’s long legs.

“Ok. Now lose the shirt.”

  
“W-what?”

“You heard me, Q. What kind of a massage would it be if you kept your shirt on?”

Quentin considered this a moment before shrugging out of his plaid over-shirt. The black t-shirt came off after, although Quentin managed to get it stuck around his head in the process, something that Eliot was beginning to recognize as somewhat of a signature Quentin move. Repressing a chuckle, Eliot yanked at the shirt and helped remove the garment, tossing it over on another chair.

“Um, sorry… I mean thanks,” although Quentin was facing away from him, Eliot could tell the younger man’s cheeks were flushed.

“It’s alright- it was rather adorable, really,” – _super adorable to be truthful_. Eliot bit his lip, studying the exposed curve of Quentin’s neck where it joined his shoulder, the skin smooth and inviting. Quentin’s hair fell loosely and sensuously back, caressing his shoulders. It was all Eliot could do to keep from ravaging the other’s neck and he had to remind himself that he was taking this slow. Anything too boisterous and he risked sending the other man fleeing to his room. This seduction would be more methodical, more teasing…

Eliot leaned over until his lips were level with Quentin’s ear and whispered in his deepest, purring voice:

“Do you have a hair tie?”

His hot breath tickled Quentin’s earlobe and Eliot observed with satisfaction as the other magician shivered and caught his breath. Quentin fumbled for a second, fighting to get an elastic off of his wrist and hand it over to Eliot, who plucked it up gracefully.

Taking his time, Eliot brushed the tips of his long fingers over Quentin’s neck and shoulders, slowly gathering the silky strands of hair together at the nape and tying them off. He noted the goosebumps that rose up on Quentin’s back in the wake of his gentle touches.

“Now-the oil.”

“The oil? Man, you are really serious about this.”

“I am always serious about massaging,” - _especially when massaging cute boys._

Eliot snapped his fingers and a vial of eucalyptus oil appeared on the table.

“Wow, El- how, what… how did you do that? Did you just teleport that here?”

“Maybe,” Eliot reached over and grabbed the vial.

In truth, he had simply camouflaged it into the table in quiet anticipation of this moment when they had first come unto the porch. Actual invisibility spells were nearly impossible to do or reverse, so most magicians settled for camouflage instead- something that was a piece of cake to do with small objects. The trick was a little showy, Eliot admitted, but theatrics were his jam and Quentin seemed properly impressed.

“Alright, sit still and try not to enjoy this too much.”

Eliot lathered his hands and began to slide them smoothly over Quentin’s neck and shoulders. He kept his touches light and firm at first, expertly feeling out the tension knots while letting himself explore the texture of Quentin’s skin. After a few minutes of this, Eliot increased the pressure, his fingers making the other man’s flesh warm and pliant to his touch, his tension subsiding with each careful and calculated movement of Eliot’s hands. All the while, Eliot mused at the lean ripple of muscles in Quentin’s shoulders and the light speckle of freckles along the younger magician’s back which teasingly trailed his spinal column and disappeared inside the line of his pants. Eliot thought of how Quentin would look splayed out on his stomach on his mattress while he licked and kissed each one of those freckles slowly- going all the way down…

Quentin was leaning into the massage, his body relaxing as small whimpers escaped his lips.

Eliot brought his mouth close to Quentin’s ear again, and when he spoke his voice was husky from barely restrained desire:

“That’s it, relax,” a brush of lips, as though by accident, traced the outer edge of Quentin’s ear. “Mmm, you are really tense still but I got you,” this last sentence was followed by a strong stroke of Eliot’s right hand from between Quentin’s shoulder blades to his nape, where his long fingers caught and pressed the pressure points behind his ears while at the same time capturing the back of Quentin’s head in a powerful grip. Quentin’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fought to stifle a moan, clenching his teeth shut on his lower lip. Eliot’s other hand kept working, slipping and sliding over Quentin’s back, sometimes gliding along the ribcage or tracing the collar bones, suggestive yet deceptively subtle.

Slowly, inch by inch, Eliot pulled Quentin closer into the trap of his long legs, retaining his grip on the other’s neck until Quentin’s head lolled softly against Eliot’s inner thigh and rested there, eyes closed. The boy's cheeks and lips were stained bright pink, as though flushed with invisible fever and his breathing was laboured. Eliot noted with delight how Quentin twitched slightly at every slow motion of his hand, which still kept up it dancing game across his skin. Eliot looked down at the pretty picture Quentin made, trapped between his legs like that and smiled to himself, inwardly pleased at his own performance. His smile deepened when his gaze traveled to Quentin’s groin. The younger man’s tight black jeans had outlined the shape of a bulging erection, which was straining violently against its confines. The mere sight of it made Eliot himself harden. Well, harden further- he realized that his cock had been gradually stiffening for a while now.

Eliot was aware of how close Quentin’s head rested to his groin and how easy it would be to grasp the other’s tied hair and guide his face to his cock while unzipping his pants with his other hand. The thought that it was daytime and they were outside on the porch of the Physical Kids’ cottage hardly phased Eliot. He’d already gotten the crowd inside to disperse and everyone was no doubt aware of what he was up to anyhow. No one would dare come out here and throw Eliot Waugh off his game. And if they did… well, it wasn’t like he never got caught with his pants down before.

Still, Eliot wanted to draw this out as much as possible and as much as he wanted to face fuck Quentin right now he forced himself to wait. Besides he wanted Quentin so aroused that he begged him for it and for that he had to work a bit harder to get the younger student out of his comfort zone.

So, Eliot waited, closing his eyes and absent mindedly continued his soft caresses while Quentin remained resting against him. Yet, in his head he pictured the shock on Quentin’s face as he dug his fingers into his hair and brought him around to face his groin… the way his brown eyes would widen when Eliot pulled his cock out… he’d trace the head of it over Quentin’s lips, slicking them with precum, teasing him until he coaxed his mouth open and --

“Quentin!”

Alice’s sharp voice called out from inside and both boys were jolted out of their trance, their eyes snapping open. Eliot was surprised to see his right hand already clutching Quentin’s pony tail and his left halfway to his fly. Another second and he might have broken his resolve and started to act out his fantasy.

Quentin jumped to his feet, hitting the patio table with his hip bone on the way up and doubling over, hands catching the frame of the table to keep from falling. _Probably a good thing too_ , Eliot thought - _that should reverse some blood flow from that otherwise painfully obvious erection._

A moment later, Alice slid open the patio door and glanced outside, her gaze traveling between Eliot, sitting in his chair and Quentin struggling shirtless with the table. The blonde furrowed her brows and shook her head before saying.

“I am leaving- remember we still have to come up with an alibi in case we are question. We should probably find Penny and Kady too.”

With that she turned on a blocky heel and stormed out of the cottage.

“I’m c-coming, wait up!” Quentin called after her. He looked over at Eliot and blushed furiously, suddenly regaining all his self-consciousness, and fumbled to grab his shirts from a chair.

“Umm, thank you for that-uh…”

“Massage?” Eliot finished for him, keeping a carefully neutral face, his tone taking on its usual bored quality. “You are welcome. Now, go catch up to that girl and try not to get expelled.” - _Because I don’t know what I’m going to do if you do_ , he finished in his head.

Quentin was halfway to the patio door when Eliot called him again.

“Hey Q- if you’re still feeling stressed later, come find me,” This time there was a small, quaint smile on his lips.

Quentin blushed more- _as if that was even possible_ \- and stumbled out.

Eliot straightened out his clothes and once more settled back into the patio chair. Pulling out a cigarette he lit it with a finger, reveling in his success and feeling the lingering ebbs of his arousal leave his body gradually.

A second later Margo appeared on the porch and walked over to slump into a chair next to him.

“So?” She asked testily, “Is he or isn’t he?”

Eliot looked over at his friend with a wicked grin as he exhaled some smoke.  
“Oh, he most definitely is.”

But with him, they always were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as mentioned this was supposed to be more of a one shot but my conscience couldn't leave it all at this note. Hence more chapters- next one from Q's POV.


	2. Sensual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Switching POV from Eliot to Quentin. Pretty much this whole chapter is in Quentin's head while he is waiting to see the Specialist and coming to grips with the fact that he is about to get expelled and should probably do something about Eliot.

For all his big talk and the apparent bad ass attitude Penny was surprisingly dim witted sometimes. Like when he passed out cold with the Emerson’s crystal still loosely clutched in his hand, not remembering that his roommate had a certain dexterous aptitude with his hands. And that he had recently gotten this same roommate expelled- not to mention, had knocked him out and sent him to the infirmary.

_Fucking asshole._

Quentin almost laughed at how easy it was to slip the crystal from the man’s hand and he internally thanked Eliot for that spell that prevented people from reading his mind. With Penny’s psychic ability it would have been too easy to give himself away and with it, lose his final chance at preserving his memories.

Not willing to stick around for Penny to wake up and notice that the crystal was missing, Quentin hurried out of the room and out unto the night time campus. He wasn’t tired anyway, the events of the past few days making him fidgety and restless. He just wanted it all to be over with- the cliffhangers were too damn nerve wracking. Once the morning came- there would be a resolution. Finally. Till then he just had to keep moving.

Hands shoved deep into his pockets- one of them clutching the crystal so tightly it dug into his skin- Quentin wandered aimlessly around campus. It was late enough that most parties had died down by this point and only the occasional hushed laughter broke through the otherwise quiet stillness of the night. Passing the hedge maze, the young man stood still for a long moment, listening to subtle rustling and growling permeating from it. The growling got louder for a split second before a frightened raccoon broke through the hedge, covering Quentin with bits of leaves and shrub before hurrying off. The topiaries clearly liked to fuck with any real animals that happened to pass through the hedge. There were apparently wards in place to keep them out, but they were not foolproof.

Passing the hedge maze, Quentin came to the path leading down from the University entrance and followed it until he reached the marble sign, the one he first saw when he came in through the bushes on the other side of the field. The one that Eliot was lounging on while waiting for him, so perfectly poised against the background of the school building. Quentin slumped down on the ground and sat with his back leaning against the Brakebills sign. He didn’t smoke but in that moment he suddenly wished he had a cigarette.

The night air was hot, although the slight wind that caressed Quentin’s face and played with his hair carried the promise of autumn. Out there, beyond the barrier, it was already cold. Tomorrow, even with his memories intact, he would have to go back there. Back out into the chilled reality of Brooklyn in November.

That was it. Back out into the cold. Forget the summer forever.

Except that he wouldn’t forget.

Quentin brought out the Emerson’s crystal and dangled it from a finger in front of his face, watching it sway in the breeze.

He supposed it was better than nothing. He did what he could and there was no more point in thinking about it. In a couple of hours this whole unfortunate set of events would reach its culminating phase. He would be gone.

With a sigh, Quentin put the crystal back in his pocket and put the thought of his expulsion firmly from his head for the time being. There would be enough time to freak out about it after it was over.

Instead, Quentin let his mind wander to certain other thoughts that, until now, his anxiety had pushed unto the backburner.

He let himself think about Eliot.

Quentin knew that he was naive but he wasn’t oblivious enough not to notice the flirtation, although it did baffle him. He’d engaged in casual flirting before but this was a whole different level of attention and he just wasn’t used to it. So anytime he noticed Eliot’s hands resting too intimately on his shoulders; anytime those eyes sized him up head to toe; anytime the older student slipped in an innuendo- Quentin froze. He felt like a kid that just caught the ball and then stood there idly, not knowing how and if to throw it back. The rumours about Eliot confused Quentin further, as it was a none-too-well kept secret at the Cottage that Waugh had a certain thing for first year boys.

Eliot was gorgeous, true, and it didn’t even phase Quentin that he was a man- something that perhaps would have been an issue in his adolescence but right now seemed inconsequential. However, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be a notch on a belt either. Regardless of the attraction, he wasn’t digging the idea of being anyone’s casual play thing. Despite the crudeness of this day and age, Quentin had to admit to himself that he was a hopeless romantic. It was what had kept him hooked on Julia for so long, even after she had plainly shown her disinterest. He didn’t want to go the same route with Eliot. Or worse- give into temptation only to be set aside for a new and more interesting toy. His brain simply would not be able to handle that.

Yet another part of Quentin’s mind was trying to argue that maybe… _maybe_ … it wasn’t just another sexual conquest for Eliot. If it was then why did the older man seem to care so much? There was an entire cohort of new first years for him to charm who would probably be a lot easier targets than Quentin; that wouldn’t hesitate to throw the ball back when it ended up in their court. But he was the one Eliot hung around with all the time. He was the one Eliot reassured and comforted. Not to mention Eliot did seem _genuinely_ distressed at the prospect of Quentin getting kicked out.  
Then there was that offer… what had Eliot said? Something about going to find him in the real world and seducing him?

At the time Quentin was genuinely pissed off about getting expelled and the remark had left him with his mouth open. Was Eliot joking? Was this supposed to cut the tension when he was about to get thrown out of the one place that mattered to him? This didn’t seem like the time to be throwing back the ball so Quentin had retorted with something mildly snappish. _That’s nice, thank you_. Now looking back at it, Eliot had winced a little so…

So the question was- was he or wasn't he serious?

 _Here’s a thought_ , Quentin’s brain offered, _the offer was for real. Instead of chasing after other men here, he’s telling you he wants to go out of the way to come find you in New York. Commonplace, boring, old New York. That’s a bit extreme just for sex, is it not?_

 _Alright,_ this was the depressive side throwing in its two cents now, _let’s suppose it is true. For whatever reason, this well-dressed, ridiculously good looking guy likes you. Or liked you. Past tense. He probably thinks you are a dick now for shutting him down. And really- what the hell do you have to offer him? Once he sees how your life was back in New York, the novelty will wear off quick enough._

 _So, then what? You’re not even going to try?_ \- Quentin’s more pragmatic self seemed actually offended by the idea. As if to emphasize the point, his brain played back an image from the day before…

_...His head lolling lazily on Eliot’s inner thigh while the older man’s fingers moved over his back. The strong scent of eucalyptus oil and a growing heat in his stomach. Soft lips brushing the side of his ear as a deep voice whispered something to him. He could feel that voice vibrating inside him, spreading over him and melting into him like freshly whipped butter. The tension slowly alleviating from his shoulders, but tension building suddenly somewhere else. His mind was deliciously blank in those moments, his near eminent expulsion forgotten. Long fingers moving to his tied hair; a tightening grip- and the knowledge that in that moment he would do just about anything that Eliot wanted..._

Alright, yeah, so there was _that_.

Quentin had to admit that it had been a beautiful moment between them, like the world had been enchanted for those minutes, with just the two of them remaining in it. Except it wasn’t magic- at least not the literal kind. What it was, was purely, ecstatically sensual. _Sensual_ \- a word that until that day Quentin had only read about but never experienced; never really understood; had no frame of reference for. But then Eliot’s fingers had spelled it out for him, had traced it in his skin. Quentin knew then the meaning of that word. From then on that’s what _sensual_ would be to him- Eliot’s hands caressing his body.

 _But now what?_ Depressive Quentin and pragmatic Quentin were melding into the usual, indecisive Quentin. _You are still getting expelled, so what are you going to do now?_

He had been outside for hours, his backside slowly growing cold where he leaned against the marble Brakebills sign. Closer to dawn the weather had gotten chillier and he shivered slightly, putting up the hood of his sweater and balling his fists up inside his sleeves. His legs had gone numb from sitting. On the horizon a single red line had appeared, a bloody gash across the throat of the night sky. Morning was promptly telling the darkness to get bent.

“What I am going to do is… write a note,” he whispered to himself and opened his messenger bag up to search for paper and a pen.

Quentin briefly considered barging into Eliot’s room at the Cottage and shaking him awake, telling him what he felt, what he was thinking about. Maybe kissing him. But he knew he didn’t have the guts to be so upfront. So he’d write a note. Slip it into Eliot’s room once the senior student took off for his morning class and then go on to face the music. It would be easier if he didn’t see Eliot anyway. He hated saying goodbyes and hated looking desperate even more.

It took Quentin several tries to write something that didn’t seem stupid and presumptuous and like he wasn’t trying too hard. Which of course he was, but no reason why it should come across that way. Around him the dawn had brightened and the campus was beginning to show signs of waking up. Indistinct noises drifted out from the open windows of buildings.

Quentin looked over his note:

_Hey El,_

_Good news- I stole an Emerson’s crystal from Penny, so I should be able to resist the mind wipe._  
_Bad news- I still have to leave._

_I’ll miss you. Really. I think I bond fast too. I know it didn’t seem like it yesterday, but I really would like it if you came to see me. Especially given that I will likely still remember everything. So.. come find me. Q._

He suppressed a juvenile urge to place a smiley face after the last sentence. It was way too high school girlish as is. He did jot down his father’s address and phone number. He hadn’t renewed the lease on his part of the apartment after abruptly leaving for Brakebills so he would have to go crash at his dad’s place for some time before deciding on what to do next.

People began to emerge and shuffle across the lawn in the distance, sleepily crawling towards the main school building. It was still a while before the first class, but the cafeteria and the campus coffee shop would be opening now and the line ups would start so that students and teachers both could get their morning dose of caffeine. The morning light had fully blossomed now, pushing back the last of night’s lingering shadows. Brakebills had woken up.

Quentin knew that he had to go now, before it was too late, so he got up groggily, stooping to rub feeling back into his tingling calves. The lack of sleep was catching up to him now, the exhaustion buzzing irritatingly somewhere between his eyes and his brain. God, he just wanted this all to be over. He pushed his hood down over his eyes as he walked briskly towards the Cottage, hiding his face in its cowl on the off chance that he would run into Penny or someone else he knew. He was in no mood for confrontations.

The Cottage itself was a hub of activity when he reached it and he had to hang back near the trees while the loud queue of students rushed outside and headed for the school. Margo was the last to leave. The pretty woman sat on the porch for several long minutes, her perfect eyebrows screwed up in an annoyed frown. Margo cast a couple of irritated glances at the Cottage door, checking a tiny silver wrist watch as she did so. Clearly, she was waiting on someone and Quentin had a good idea of who that someone was. Finally giving up, Margo sighed loudly in frustration and shook her head, getting up from the porch. Within a few sharp clicks of her high-heeled shoes, she disappeared from sight.

Was Eliot still inside or did he leave without Margo? The latter didn’t seem very plausible, unless he had somewhere else to be. Or maybe he slept somewhere else last night?

Quentin took a deep breath and checked his own watch. He would have to report to the Dean’s office soon so he had no choice but to risk going in now. If he ran into Eliot then he supposed he’d just have to spill the beans. Or maybe slip the note in his pocket under the pretext of a hug? He certainly had enough practice with magic tricks to do so without the other man noticing.

Once inside the Cottage, however, Quentin did not see anyone. The place seemed deserted. Maybe El had left early after all. He’d been inside the older student’s room a couple of times, if briefly, so he climbed the staircase quickly and quietly, stalking down the hall until he reached the door.

Another thought struck him, namely that Eliot could be asleep in his bed still, but a noise from the shower room on the other side of the hall suddenly informed him otherwise. Quentin could hear the sound of running water, taps evidently turned up full blast.

Then there was the singing. Quentin held his breath and listened, trying to make out the words. That the voice belonged to Eliot he did not doubt. It was strong and sonorous, with perfect pitch and timbre. It appeared to be something from a musical, though Quentin couldn’t tell for the life of him which one. It sounded breathtaking.

Quentin smiled in spite of himself. It seemed too fitting somehow that Eliot was the kind of person who sang in the shower.  
Suddenly feeling a bit like a stalker, Quentin forced himself to stop listening and to hurry up. He pushed his hands against Eliot’s door, relieved that the man had left it unlocked before leaving to shower, and stumbled in.

The inside smelled mildly like cigarettes and also something pleasantly sweet and evasive. The bed had not been made yet, it’s purple silks lying rumpled and abandoned. Quentin didn’t want to look at the bed or linger smelling the air in the room. He felt blatantly awkward, like he was intruding in some sacred space and it made him blush to think of what Eliot would do if he caught him in here once he got back from the shower. What would he even say? _“Haha, surprise morning seduction?”_

Maybe that would work, actually.

But no, really now, he had to go.

Quentin noted a stack of school books on the nightstand and rushed over, picking up the one on top. _Astrological Methodologies for Intermediate Spell Casting_. He slipped his note inside and replaced the book, feeling more panicky with every second he spent in Eliot’s room.

Quentin ran outside and shut the door just in time to note the taps in the shower room getting turned off and, not wanting to risk it, bounded down the stairs and out of the Cottage. Once outside again he kept running for a space of time until he felt a stitch in his side. His heart was beating uncontrollably and he had to stop himself, leaning against the tree and panting hard. He had felt so brave there for a couple of seconds and then it all went away and there was nothing but fear left.

Except he didn’t really understand what it was he was afraid of. Eliot? His feelings? The fact that he’d just busted into someone’s room and left some desperate sounding note inside a book? Or was it finally this anticipation of dealing with the Specialist that had caught up to him, after being held in check by his semi-romantic musings for the better part of the night?

 _Fuck, Quentin, get a grip,_ he shouted at himself internally, willing his heart to start racing. This was it. He’d gotten the crystal to ward off the memory wipe. He’d left as near to a confession of his feelings as he dared in a note for Eliot to find. He had thrown the ball out of his court. He would either get away with his memories, or he wouldn’t. Eliot would either come find him, or he wouldn’t. There was nothing more to it now.

Steadying himself and checking once more to make sure the crystal was tucked safely away in his pocket, Quentin began walking calmly and steadily towards Brakebills and his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this POV and the whole wandering the campus scene. Any thoughts/comments are appreciated ;)


	3. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot is broken up over Quentin getting expelled - good thing he didn't actually.

_Waking up was definitely a bad idea,_ Eliot thought as the thrum of a hangover headache vibrated in his temples. He noted the knock on the door, but refused to get up, burying himself deeper in his blankets. Maybe whoever it was would just go away.

Whoever it was turned out to be Margo and she had totally different ideas about going away. After knocking several times the young woman simply pushed open the door and strolled in.

“I can tell you were too smashed to ward the lock on your door before crashing,” she said, loudly- too fucking loudly- and pounced on the bed.

Eliot lifted the blankets up enough to observe her with one eye.

“You have no right to look so good this early in the morning, Bambi,” his words were stifled by the blankets.

He was right- it was maybe quarter to seven and Margo was already perfectly made up.

“You know I am an early riser,” she said matter-of- factly. “And you need to get up if you want enough time to make yourself pretty before class.” she straddled his cocooned form and began to dig him out from under the blankets. Eliot struggled futilely for a couple of moments before letting her pull the sheets away from his face.

“Sweetie, you don’t look good,” Margo ran a hand through his disheveled curls. “And this is why we don’t get crushes on people. The boy is leaving and you’re positively a mess over it.”

“Thanks for the reminder, I thought I had drank enough to forget about it,” Eliot tried to wriggle away from her and Margo let him, rolling off him to lie on her side and hugging him from behind.

“Why him, El?” She said, “there are so many other first years- with a lot less baggage at that.”

How could he explain it to her if she didn’t see it herself? To recount all those adorable traits alone would take forever, let alone the way Quentin made him feel.

“I don’t know, Bambi, it just is what it is,” Eliot said noncommittally. He really didn’t feel like having this conversation right now. Even with his best friend.

Margo didn’t reply and just held him for a few minutes, something that Eliot was silently grateful for. They didn’t always agree on things, but they knew how to be comfortingly quiet together when it was needed.

“I am gonna go,” she said at last getting up and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Do you want me to wait for you outside before going to class?”

“If you want to,” Eliot sighed. “I am not entirely sure I am going to go to class.”

“Marsh won’t be too happy about that,” Margo chided. “You missed two lessons last week and we have a midterm coming up on Friday.”

“I’ll catch up. You know I test well.”

“El-”

“I’ll think about it ok? Just don’t hold your breath,” he cut her off, a bit annoyed. It wasn’t her fault- she was trying to take care of him in her own way- and the midterm really was a big deal. He just didn’t think he could handle people right now.

“Alright love, I’ll wait outside for a bit,” he heard the sound of her shoes receding and the quiet shutting of the door behind her.

Eliot remained in his bed for a while longer, waiting for the headache to subside. It did not. Nor did the thoughts of Quentin. Their last interaction was slightly tense, Quentin being angry and upset over his expulsion and the fact that he would have to have his memories wiped. And of course, Eliot had to go and make that comment about seducing him…

The offer was genuine, although Eliot had attempted to veil it as at least a partial joke in order to try and lift his friend’s spirits. It didn’t seem to work and, looking back, Eliot wasn’t too surprised that it hadn’t. Really though, the prospect of hooking up wouldn’t have seemed so appealing when there was so much more that Quentin would be losing along with Brakebills.

Then again, _“that’s nice, thank you_ ,”- wasn’t entirely a no was it?

Eliot had been hoping against hope that Quentin would suddenly show up at the Cottage last night- to say goodbye or _something_. He’d stayed up late in the common room, getting progressively more drunk as the hours of the night dwindled and the prospects of Quentin strolling in lessened. Margo had kept him company for a while, but left when he started to get moody and snappish. It was just as well because if Quentin had come, he wouldn’t want anyone else there.

Quentin, however, didn’t come and, resigned, Eliot finally forced himself to go to bed when the dawn was dangerously close to breaking. You couldn’t see the sun on the horizon yet, but the shade of the sky suggested that it wasn’t far off. Now thinking about it, Eliot figured he couldn’t have been asleep for more than two or three hours.

Class was definitely out of the question but then what? Going back to sleep?

A sudden and desperate thought came to Eliot. Quentin didn’t come last night, but maybe he would stop by the Cottage this morning before going to see the Specialist. He had to come say goodbye, didn’t he? The thought urged Eliot out of bed and had him rushing for the shower room. He was not emotionally prepared for Quentin to see him looking this disheveled. Because obviously, he would come right?

In the shower, Eliot turned the hot water on full blast, gasping as the hard stream hit him full on. The pressure of the heat soon had his skin tingling and became mildly painful. Eliot didn’t mind. He wanted to bring himself back to reality, to stop wandering in his own thoughts if only for just a short time. He even sang for a bit, something he would not have done unless he knew for sure that all the physical kids from the Cottage had already gone to class. It might have been silly, but singing nearly always made him feel better. Something about music was marvelously uplifting. Besides, Eliot knew that he was a fabulous singer- years of drama club and theatre productions in high school and college could attest to that. And just at this moment he needed to give himself an ego boost. Somehow, “One Song Glory” from Rent was the first song that came to mind so he rolled with it, singing at the top of his lungs while the scalding hot water beat away his fatigue.

When he finally got out and turned off the water he vaguely caught the sound of someone running down the stairs of the Cottage and slamming shut the front door. Funny, he had been sure there was no one else here when he got up. Must have been someone coming back in for a forgotten textbook. No matter- whoever it was got to hear a free performance.

His room when he came back in felt a little different to him. Eliot couldn’t tell quite why that was so- none of his things looked like they had been tampered with. He did however chide himself on forgetting to lock his door once more. There had been reported thefts at the Cottage as of late- things going suddenly missing from certain stash locations. Magical artifacts and books and the like. He would have to remember to look through his shit later to make sure everything was still in place.

Eliot wondered for a second if it had been Quentin who had come in, perhaps looking for him, and the idea sent a thrill down his spine. He dismissed the thought quickly, thinking himself crazy for having even considered it. Besides if Quentin did come, wouldn’t he wait for him?

Ok, so- he clearly couldn’t get his brain to stop going in these obsessive little loops and it was only what… 8:00 am? What the hell was he supposed to do with himself for the rest of the day? Or the week for that matter? He knew he wouldn’t last that long. He’d already given himself a promise that he was going to do it- he was going to go to New York. He would look for Quentin. Eliot hadn’t said anything to Margo yet- he didn’t want to hear about how potentially creepy that sounded.

The weather promised a warm and sunny day so he dressed lightly and gave himself a satisfied one over in the mirror while fitting his sunglasses to his face. At least he retained his flare despite everything. Beautiful on the outside and broken inside. What a lovely paradox. Now there was still the question of what to do with himself for the rest of the morning…

Eliot went over to his nightstand and opened up the second drawer, rummaging through his things until he found a small baggy filled with white powder. He looked at it wistfully for a few minutes, considering. He didn’t do as much coke now as he did back in his first year- and then it had gotten really bad for a while. Still, he usually had a small stash hidden in his drawer just in case… in case he really couldn’t deal with reality anymore and alcohol just wasn’t cutting it.

Deciding against it, Eliot shoved the blow back in the nightstand and stood up before he could change his mind. He really didn’t want to be that fucked up if Quentin did show up. He would even hold off on getting drunk. Well… ok, he’d probably have _a_ drink. Maybe two. But that’s really it. Maybe he would study… yes, study. What a fucking brilliant idea.

Eliot grabbed a few textbooks from his nightstand and headed downstairs to the common room. He made a drink and, forcing himself not to chug it down, settled on the couch with the textbooks, setting his sunglasses aside for the time being. Unfortunately, the studying didn’t get off to a good start. The words on the pages in front of him melded together and made no sense. Some books he didn’t even bother opening. At one point he had picked up his copy of _Astrological Methodologies for Intermediate Spell Casting_ , only to set it down right away with disgust. That class was such an incredible bore he was surprised it was one of the mandatories. _Gross_.He’d get to that one last.

The glass ashtray beside him filled up steadily.

By ten in the morning Eliot had to admit to himself that Quentin wasn’t coming. He knew his meeting had been in the early morning so at this point, his darling Q would probably already be back in Brooklyn, mildly confused, his memories of Brakebills completely erased. And he hadn’t even told him goodbye.

Maybe going to look for him in New York was a bad idea. After all, why hadn’t he come to say goodbye? Eliot told himself to face the facts. He had never gotten rejected before so perhaps he was just having trouble dealing with the obvious.

But he _hadn’t_ imagined Quentin’s reaction the other day out on the porch!

_Damn it- when would the morning classes end already?_

He went from feeling like he couldn’t stand to be around anyone to desperately needing human contact. That was the problem with going out of your mind; you didn’t know what you wanted anymore because it seemed like you wanted everything and nothing at the same time. Eliot went to the bar and poured himself a shot of whiskey. Quentin wasn’t coming so there was no reason to stay sober now.

Lack of sleep and alcohol made him feel dizzy and Eliot thought once again about the drugs upstairs. With every passing minute it was starting to seem like more and more of a good idea. He’d do the blow. Then drink some more and maybe find a cute boy to make out with later tonight. Eric from second year was always an option. And not a bad one if he wanted to stay distracted.

 _Actually no, fuck messing around. Fuck everything_ \- he would just lie down on the couch for a bit until his head stopped spinning…

Eliot must have passed out in the common room for some time because the next thing he knew he was waking up to Margo gently shaking his shoulders. The scent of her perfume was calmly reassuring. Daisy by Marc Jacobs. It suited her well. Soft brown curls brushed against his face.

“El, baby,” she was saying as she shook him, “wake up. I’ve got some good news, doll.” The common room was alive with students taking their midday break.

“D’you have some of those magic mushrooms again? The ones that make you comatose for a week? Because _that_ would be good news,” Eliot answered sleepily while slowly sitting up.

“Umm, no. I am not doing that again for a while. Or like ever. I still get flashbacks sometimes and that was two summers ago now,” the girl shook her head profusely. “But I thought maybe you’d like to know that a certain someone didn’t end up getting expelled.”

All at once Eliot was alert.

“Get out! Are you messing with me right now?”

“Pfft, you know I wouldn’t do that to you,” Margo feigned taking offense, “I saw Q after he left the Dean’s office. Apparently they had decided to give him another chance. He looked shaken up but happy. I told him to stop by for lunch and celebrate after he did whatever it was he was gonna do.”

“Did you tell him anything? Like-”

“Like about your next level pining? No. You can tell him about that yourself. Now come on,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him up from the couch.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside. You’re going to grill us some steaks.”

“Fine,” Eliot said with false exasperation while letting her drag him outside, “and I wasn’t _that_ bad, Bambi.”

“Honey, that was some next level Shakespearean drama shit. I didn’t know whether to cry or to eat popcorn,” Margo joked.

Eliot felt a weight slowly lifting. He was still tired as shit and edgy, but it was over and Quentin would be staying at Brakebills. He was coming here. Would probably be here any minute.

“Do I get an Oscar nomination?” He joked back as they got outside and started up the grill.

“I’m giving you five,” she replied, giving him a tight hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like this work has to keep going for a fourth chapter for end results ;). I just got too caught up in the Eliot angst. Who knew he'd get quite this worked up? Poor guy. Also one thing I didn't think I would enjoy so much is the Margo/Eliot dynamic, which turned out to be quite fun to write. She wasn't going to feature so prominently at first but the tide changed in her favour. As per that note- well... we'll see what happens :O


	4. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both boys are over-tired and complete emotional wrecks but hey they will see each other finally and they are both totally psyched for it :O. Going to be a mix of POVs for the next two chapters.

Quentin had to fight the urge to run to the Cottage as soon as he found out that he wasn’t expelled. All the emotional upheaval of the past hours was playing havoc with his mind. Of course he was ecstatic, how could he not be? The train hadn’t left the station after all. But getting kicked around from one emotional state to another for the past two days took it’s toll on Quentin. So even the flood of relief and happiness at being allowed to stay at Brakebills made him feel awfully drained.

He had ran into Margo after leaving the Dean’s office, and the look of pure shock on her face at seeing him was enough to almost bring Quentin to tears, and he found himself suppressing a sob when she pulled him into a hug.

“Ok, don’t have a break down now, Coldwater,” Margo patted him on the back, “I don’t know whose dick you had to suck to get out of expulsion but obviously it was good enough that they decided to keep you around.”

“I didn’t suck anyone’s dick-” he began but she had cut him off.

“Oh. My. God. Obviously I am joking! You know that thing called humour?” Margo gave him an exasperated stare. “Besides if it took good blowjob skills to keep from getting expelled we wouldn’t be out in the hall talking right now.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

“Jesus, don’t look offended at that,” the girl gave him a light push. “Now seriously, go get a coffee. You look like you need it. Then come to the cottage for drinks and lunch. Celebratory lunch.”

“Yeah.. I’ll come by soon,” he replied as she hurried away.

It was strange having Margo act this fussy around him, as Quentin was sure she didn’t give a damn about anyone but Eliot. But he would wonder about that later. Right now she was right- he needed caffeine and then..

..And then he needed to see Eliot.

Quentin went over to the coffee shop and got himself a large coffee with an espresso shot before wandering over to sit near a fountain. He allowed himself to smile absently while sipping his beverage and looking out at the campus grounds with its crowd of milling students rushing to and from class.

“Q?” He heard an amazed voice behind him and turned to see Alice. Her mouth was slightly open, blue eyes wide behind her glasses. She hurried over, sitting down on the bench next to him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You’re- you’re-”

“Still here?” His smile broadened. “Yeah. I know. I am as amazed as you are. Please refrain from any dick sucking comments.”

“Umm, what?”

“Nothing, nevermind,” Quentin pulled the girl into a hug. Alice was shocked at first, not knowing what to do with her arms, but after a moment she hugged him back.

“So, you want to maybe get lunch or something?” Alice asked when she pulled away.

“Actually I believe I was told to report to the Cottage for lunch,” he replied, “do you want to come with me?”

“Oh,” Alice looked uncertain, “No. I don’t think so. I am not entirely sure Margo and Eliot like me.”

“They don’t _dislike_ you,” Quentin protested. “They’re just … Margo and Eliot. It’s their _thing_. Or something.”

“Well, I am not sure I dig their thing,” Alice got up and picked up her bookbag. “Have fun. We’ll catch up later, ok?”

“Sure, ok.”

Alice had started to walk away and then turned back.

“And Q?” She waited until his gaze was on her. “I am glad you’re still here.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said. And he meant it. He was really, really glad he was still here.

After finishing the coffee Quentin told himself that he was wasting time and started out towards the Cottage. He felt himself get jittery with anticipation- and likely caffeine- but it was a good kind of anticipation this time. The kind that boiled in your insides and threatened to bubble over, obscuring your reason. He tried to keep it contained but it fought back, inhibiting what felt like every part of his body. It was all Quentin could do to keep from breaking into a run when he was nearing the Cottage.

He could hear Eliot before he saw him, his laugh loud and infectious, richly rolling through the afternoon air. Gods, even his laugh was musical and captivating, its presence so intense that it made the space around it feel charged and alive. Quentin could physically feel Eliot’s laughter washing over him like the sea caressing the beach on a tropical island, warm and heavy. He wanted to be buried under that glorious wave of sound, to feel the heaviness of it enveloping his senses.

It felt like forever until he rounded the corner that brought him to the back of the Cottage. And finally, _finally_ , there was Eliot, standing with Margo at the grill, beaming at him and waving for him to come over; drink in hand; his face flushed. He seemed more animated than usual, his words and gestures almost impatient as he told him that they didn’t have all day… But no actually, they _did_ have all day…

Quentin shook his head slightly and smiled, and when he smiled he couldn’t stop anymore. He knew he must have looked like an idiot, grinning like that, his hair an unwashed mess plastered to his face, but he couldn’t help himself. Eliot seemed positively radiant right now. Quentin wanted to rush at him and pull him into an embrace. No, not just an embrace- he wanted to press against him with every fibre of his being and then never move again.

Instead he just stood there and looked at him with stars in his eyes…

… Eliot was acting giddy and he knew it. Even before Quentin had shown up, he had started feeling somewhat manic. Running off almost no sleep, some alcohol and wracked emotions will do that to you. Margo was telling him something as he was fiddling with the grill but he didn’t know what it was, only that she had pulled out an umbrella for some god awful reason and it made him laugh uncontrollably. Somehow, actually cooking anything was beyond Eliot for once and in his anticipation he fucked around with the grill, casting small incantations to make the flames flare up in the air.

Then there was Quentin coming around to the back of the Cottage and Margo whispering under her breath:

“Act 3: Scene 1- Quentin enters stage right.”

Eliot giggled and beaconed the boy over, trying not to splash his drink everywhere. Dammit, where was his coordination? Clearly in the same place as his mangled brain.

Quentin looked like he hadn’t had a shower or changed his clothes since the day before. His hair was a horrible mess and his shirt and pants were wrinkled and disheveled. But his smile, his fucking smile! Eliot thought he was going insane but he could have sworn that that smile was just for him, that the way his brown eyes glistened like dark liquid pools was for him also.

_You adorable, fucked up dork, why won’t you come hug me? Why are you just standing there looking at me like that? Can’t you see that I want to tear you apart right now?_

Eliot knew that he was hanging on by a thread. A part of him was glad that Quentin hadn’t come forward to embrace him because he knew that he would lose it then. He had been playing calm and collected for so long that longing had worn his mask thin. Eliot knew he was done with the light, playful seductions; he could no longer keep them up and keep his head and heart intact. Part of it was the exhaustion, he knew that, but the other part was pure want… because he wanted, God damn it he _wanted him_. It wasn’t just a physical desire- his entire soul was ravenously hungry. And the thing he wanted most was just inches away, within easy reach…

“Eliot! Eliot, for fuck’s sake cool the grill down or it will be useless for cooking anything” Margo was saying. He felt her come over and push him away from the barbecue to take over his place. “Gods, both of you look ridiculous right now. You should have gone to bed last night when I told you to, El.”

“You didn’t sleep?” Quentin raised an eyebrow at him.

“Barely,” Eliot’s voice sounded harsh and thick in his ears.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep either,” the younger man said, blowing a strand of hair way from his eyes. Then he gave a small laugh. “Did you know, I spent the whole night walking around outside losing my mind? Then I sat at the Brakebills sign for hours just waiting for the dawn.” Quentin’s face was exaggerated and expressive. He was biting his lower lip. “And after all that- I didn’t get expelled.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Eliot smirked.

“No, of course it’s not a bad thing, I’m just so.. I don’t know how to even say it,” Quentin was looking for the right words.

“It’s ok. I get it. I think,” Eliot was aware that the world was disappearing quickly around them. Everything was receding into the background, becoming hazy and distorted. Quentin was the only thing that was solid and real. Eliot took a step towards him, his hand extended slightly as the distance closed between them, fingertips brushing along the outside of Quentin’s arm until they reached his hand, caressing it lightly.

Quentin had dropped the belongings he was carrying with him and turned his hand so that their palms brushed against each other, his fingers wrapping around Eliot’s hand, squeezing it gently. Eliot squeezed back, but harder, like he was grasping a lifeline. Inside him, Eliot could virtually feel a dam begin to split open and he was tired, so infinitely tired of keeping it in check. It was time to let it break apart and have the current come sweep them both away.

All he had to do was pull Quentin towards him…

...Eliot’s hand was a live-wire in his grasp, sending an electromagnetic charge through Quentin’s body, settling somewhere in his chest and gripping almost painfully around his heart.

 _This is it_ , Quentin thought, _if anything is going to happen it has to happen now._

He let himself look at Eliot, really look at him, without disguising anything in his gaze. Quentin’s eyes traveled up and down the taller man’s body with the same frank desire with which Eliot usually looked at him. Quentin felt more than heard the other’s sharp intake of breath and realized that he was being tugged forward, Eliot’s hand pulling him closer.

“I, ah..” Quentin started to say something breathlessly, licking his lips. His eyelids were closing slowly and he was looking up at Eliot through his lashes, fully aware of what was about to happen. He tilted his head back, rising up on his toes.

“You what?” Eliot whispered, his voice barely audible. His lips were parting as he prepared to take the plunge, eyes closing shut in time with Quentin’s, face lowering to meet that of the shorter man.

_I am going to kiss you now, ok? OK-_

“Hey guys, do ya’ll mind if we use the grill too?”

Quentin’s eyes snapped open and he pulled back from Eliot. A group of students had appeared all of a sudden on the porch of the Cottage, some of whom he’d recognized from past parties. Quentin felt himself get uncomfortably red in the face. He really hadn’t been counting on an audience. He stepped back from Eliot and released his hold on the tall man’s hand, suddenly losing his boldness and withdrawing back into himself.

Eliot’s cheeks flushed too, but it wasn’t from embarrassment. The older magician looked seriously ticked off.

“What in the actual _fuck_!” Eliot snapped. The people that had accumulated around them on the porch looked at him with mild confusion. “Why does this seriously keep happening every fucking time?”

A couple of the students laughed and exchanged sideways glances.

Quentin wanted desperately to disappear. Really why did he think it was a good idea to try to kiss Eliot out on the porch like that?

“I am sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, wrapping his arms around himself and pointedly avoiding looking at Eliot. He let his hair fall forward to obscure his face. Around them people had started to climb down from the porch to hover over the grill. Margo started talking loudly all of a sudden, joking about something and drawing all attention to herself. Quentin loved her in that moment.

“What? No,” Eliot reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Don’t be sorry.”

The older student turned towards the crowd for a moment and seeing that everyone had thankfully turned away from them, continued quietly:

“I am going back in.”

“Back in?” Quentin risked a quick glance back at Eliot from underneath his hair, but avoided eye contact.

“Yes. I’m going to go bring my books back up to my room,” Eliot said. “Someone on campus has been stealing school books lately. Come help me.”

“With the books?” Quentin asked absent mindedly.

“Yes, the books. Come help me with the books,” Eliot was clearly slightly exasperated. He grabbed a hold of Quentin’s wrist and pulled him away from the backyard and all the people that had suddenly invaded their space. Quentin gratefully let himself get swept along into the safety of the Cottage, thoughtlessly forgetting his discarded stuff on the ground behind him.

Once inside, Eliot walked over to a pile of books and Quentin felt an anxious clenching in his gut when he saw _Astrological Methodologies for Intermediate Spellcasting_ on the top of that pile.

 _Fuck! I forgot about that damn note_ , Quentin’s mind was racing. True- he had intended for Eliot to find it- but he had also assumed that he would be far away when he did so, thus avoiding any awkward scenarios until way after the fact. He really couldn’t deal with explaining to Eliot about sneaking into his room right this moment.

Eliot was about to bend down to pick up his textbooks when Quentin awkwardly pushed the older man’s hands aside and grabbed the stack.

“I can carry these up for you,” he mumbled quickly.

Eliot raised an eyebrow at him in question but didn’t object.

“If you insist,” Eliot said with an air of bored amusement, “follow me.”

He turned on his heel and headed up the stairs and towards his room, Quentin following close beside him with the books. He was trying to think fast and come up with a plan to take the note back out of the book without Eliot seeing. His hands could do some pretty impressive things but he still had to make sure that he wasn’t in Eliot’s direct line of vision for at least a split second. He had a sudden desperate idea just as they were coming up to the top of the stairs.  
Quentin hung back and pretended to catch his ankle on the top stair and fell forward, dropping the stack of books in such a way that _Astrological Methodologies_ landed open face up closest to him. He had just enough time to grab the book and pull the note out, hiding it up his sleeve, before Eliot turned around, concern etched on his lovely face.

“Are you ok, Q?” Eliot helped Quentin collect the fallen textbooks.

“Yes, um -I am ok. I am just really tired, you know?” Quentin’s voice had a bit of a hysterical note to it. He’d slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans, relocating the note from his sleeve to his pants in an indiscernible motion before restacking the textbooks and picking them up. If Eliot had noticed the feign he did not show it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take those,” Eliot pointed to the stack of books now arranged back in Quentin’s hands.

“No, no. I am good. Really,” Eliot did not argue further and they proceeded down the hall into his bedroom.

“Where should I put these?” Quentin asked once the door had been shut behind them.

Eliot pointed to the nightstand near his bed.

“Just over there is fine,” he said.

Eliot waited until Quentin’s back was turned and he had placed the books back unto the nightstand before continuing:

“But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I am drawing this out forever -_-' but seriously every time I feel like I am coming close to finishing this fic it just keeps expanding all by itself. Plus writing all those convoluted and angsty emotions is interesting. And yes, I realize it is a running theme that they keep getting interrupted but life is just never easy, is it?


	5. I Can Lose Myself in You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin hadn't been as sneaky as he thought- either that or nothing get's past Eliot.

Words of protest rising to his lips, Quentin turned on his heel to face Eliot, who was smugly leaning against his bedroom door. The tall magician lazily flicked his wrist, making a grasping gesture with his fingers and Quentin felt the note he had so painfully retrieved stir in his pocket. Before he could do anything about it, the folded piece of paper had shot out from his pants and was leisurely floating away towards Eliot who plucked it gracefully out of the air.

 _Damn his telekinesis_ , Quentin thought. His stomach was steadily sinking and he didn’t dare to move. His cheeks had gone red for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

“Your hands are quick, but you need to work on your poker face,” Eliot was saying. “I mean I know that _Astrological Methodologies_ is a dreadful bore, but I have never seen anyone look at the book with such downright terror before.”

Quentin swallowed. He didn’t like where this was going.  
Eliot walked over to where Quentin was standing near his bed, stopping when they were close enough to touch.

“Which leads me to the question,” Eliot tapped the folded note in his hand on Quentin’s nose playfully. “What is this little piece of paper and how, oh _how_ , did it get into one of _my_ books?”

“Eliot don’t!” Quentin cried out and lunged for the other man’s arm, grabbing at his wrist.

“‘Eliot don’t’ what?” Eliot was laughing, his free arm coming around Quentin’s waist as the shorter man struggled to retrieve the piece of paper which Eliot dangled just out of his reach.

“Can I please just have that?” Quentin begged.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” with a strong push Eliot had them toppling over on top of his bed, one of his long legs wrapping around Quentin’s hips to keep him pinned in place. Quentin struggled but quickly found out that despite his slim build Eliot was actually quite strong. Eliot grabbed and held down one of Quentin’s arms, shifting the weight of his body so that the remaining arm was pinned underneath him. Quentin continued wiggling for about a minute until he realized with a start that every time he did so it forced him to grind his groin against Eliot’s inner thigh. Infuriatingly, Eliot seemed well aware of his dilemma, grinding down on him while Quentin struggled, chuckling when the realization of his predicament showed on the younger man’s face.

“Eliot-”

“What’s on the paper, Q?” Eliot rolled his hips slowly, making Quentin gasp, and was pleased to feel a responsive twitch against his inner thigh. Quentin froze, breathing hard. “What, are you giving up already?” He grinded down again and this time Quentin arched into it with a soft moan.

“N-no.. I mean, yes? I don’t know.” The sinking feeling in Quentin’s stomach was replaced by a tingling sensation that was quickly spreading throughout his body. He had never had someone pin him down or restrain him in this way before and he was surprised to find out just how much he enjoyed it. He was painfully aware of his growing hardness and the way it was pressing up into Eliot’s thigh when they moved together. The other man’s weight on him was exhilirating and Quentin knew that at this point he was too far gone. He wanted more. The whole ordeal with the note hardly seemed relevant anymore.

Eliot, however, wasn’t letting it go. After a few more deep grinds that had Quentin reeling and panting under him, Eliot pulled back teasingly. Quentin was surprised at himself for letting out what appeared to be a low, protesting whine.

“So do you care to explain yet or am I just going to have to read it?”

“Ok,ok. Fine.” Taking advantage of Eliot’s loosened grip on him, Quentin lifted his weight up on his elbows and took a breath. “I wrote that last night. Back when I thought I was going to be expelled and might not see you ever again. Then I… umm..”

“Snuck into my room and stuck it in one of my textbooks?” Eliot was wearing an ear splitting grin. He adjusted himself, bringing both knees on either side of Quentin, straddling him.

“Y-yes,” Quentin felt the embarrassment swell inside him again and it would have been overwhelming if Eliot sitting on top of him like that wasn’t so damn distracting. “You were in the shower at the time. And then, you know, I didn’t get expelled and the note ended up being redundant and I figured maybe you’d think it was... creepy, or something.”

“Creepy?” Eliot quirked an eyebrow up. His amber eyes on Quentin’s were full of some deep emotion that the younger man just couldn’t place. “Not as creepy as planning to stalk you in New York after you got a full on memory wipe.”

Quentin choked back a laugh.

“Wouldn’t really be stalking if I approved of it, now would it?” He jerked his head in the direction of the note Eliot still held in one hand.

Eliot slowly unfolded the piece of paper and read it. When he put it down again Quentin was shocked to see the other man’s eyes glazed with tears.

“Eliot, what..” Quentin brought a hand up and placed it on Eliot’s cheek. The man leaned into the touch, grabbing Quentin’s wrist as he did so, as though afraid the hand and the man attached to it would disappear.

“Oh, Q,” Eliot sobbed once. “What if I told you that you were not the only one losing your mind last night? That I… fuck! I waited up last night hoping you would come. But you didn’t and I had started to think I had imagined that we.. I mean, that you…”

“Have been kinda- sorta obsessing over you this whole time?” Quentin finished for him, for once being the one whose voice was steady. After all this time, it wasn’t so hard to say after all.

“It is safe to say that the feeling is mutual,” Eliot said, regaining his composure and the somewhat sly glint in his eyes.

“Good well..now that that’s settled I have to admit that if you don’t kiss me right now I am going to fucking lose my shit.” It was so wonderful, Quentin thought, to finally be saying the things that have been lurking around in his brain for weeks.

“I swear to god if someone else decides to interrupt _this_ time-” Eliot was pushing him down, his face hovering above Quentin’s for a split second before he closed the final remaining distance between them. Then his mouth, hot and hungry, was capturing Quentin’s lips, prying them insistently open. Quentin complied, taking a moment to process the taste of cigarettes and some sweet alcohol on Eliot’s breath. He had wondered if it would be unpleasant kissing someone who smoked, but somehow the effect was overpowered by the otherwise sweet taste of Eliot’s mouth. He let Eliot lead, unsure at first of what to do with his tongue but quickly adapting to the other man’s slow and thorough strokes. At times, Eliot would roll the tip of his tongue around Quentin’s, then lift it up to flick across the inside of his lips in a motion that had Quentin whimpering.

Quentin ran his hands along Eliot’s back while they kissed, clumsily pulling at his shirt as he did so, desperate to feel skin. Realizing his intention, Eliot pulled back enough to allow Quentin’s hands easy access to his shirt while their lips could stay locked together.Telling himself to breath evenly, Quentin slowly worked the shirt up over the other man’s head, secretly happy that Eliot wasn’t wearing a vest and a button down today. He ended up pleased with himself when he was able to remove the garment in one fluid motion. He pushed Eliot away slightly, and the older boy took the hint and leaned back, allowing Quentin to take in the sight of him.

As far as sights went, it was a great one, Quentin had to admit. Unsurprisingly, Eliot’s skin was pale and luminous under his shirt, his chest and stomach speckled lightly with fine, dark hair. Quentin carefully traced his fingertips along Eliot’s chest, making the other man gasp when they grazed his nipples on their way down. Quentin spent some time exploring the treasure trail along Eliot’s abdomen, observing the slight twitches that resulted from his diligent caresses, before his hands settled on Eliot’s belt. Below, tautly stretching the plaid fabric of his shorts, Eliot’s hard length was plainly visible. Quentin paused, not able to keep himself from feeling intimidated at it’s size. It looked huge even with the fabric of the shorts keeping it restrained.

Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face because Eliot chuckled, making Quentin look up from the man’s erection back up to his face.

“Don’t worry,” Eliot was looking smug again. “I don’t expect you to fit the whole thing in your mouth on the first try. Although, of course, you are welcome to try it.”

Wanting to wipe that look off Eliot’s face, Quentin suddenly and roughly grabbed Eliot’s shaft through his pants, keeping his eyes on Eliot's face as he did so. Eliot’s swore under his breath, his eyes going wide, his cock throbbing in response to the sudden pressure of Quentin’s hand. Quentin gave Eliot an experimental squeeze, feeling the pulsating heat of his cock fill up his palm. Settling his thumb on the base and applying firm pressure, Quentin brought it up in a hard stroke to the tip and tightened his grip around it. He was rewarded with feeling Eliot jerk against him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he released a deep groan. The fabric of Eliot’s shorts dampened under Quentin’s hand, sticky precum seeping through the garment unto his fingers.

“Oh, my _fuck_..” Eliot gasped and Quentin once more found himself being thrust back onto the mattress, Eliot’s long fingers gripping his hair so tight it made his eyes tear up. He cried out at the sudden roughness of it, but didn’t tell the other man to stop either. From something playful and slow this was quickly turning into something wild and animalistic. Eliot’s mouth was no longer tender on his own. Instead Quentin felt teeth nipping at his tongue and lips; finding himself biting back at Eliot while something closely resembling a growl escaped his throat. Eliot let go of his hair long enough to pull Quentin’s shirt off, immediately grasping at the long strands once more, jerking Quentin’s head back and exposing his throat. Seconds later Eliot’s mouth moved to his neck, biting and licking at the skin. Down below, Quentin felt the persistent press of Eliot’s erection against his own stiffened cock, the friction of his pants along his length becoming a consistent irritant.

As though aware of the problem, Eliot moved one hand away from Quentin’s head, sliding it down the smaller man’s torso and undoing his button and zipper in one brief and fluid movement. The next second, Eliot was pushing down his pants, his mouth still sealed shut around Quentin’s neck, ravaging it with his teeth and tongue. Quentin kicked his legs a bit, helping his pants fall to the floor, which left him lying under Eliot in just his briefs. A warm breeze from the cracked window brushed over his newly exposed flesh, stroking him in tandem with Eliot’s hands, which had traveled downwards, now insistently tracing the band on his underwear.

Quentin was trembling, his body overcome with uncontrollable tremors. Eliot had looked up from ravishing his neck, locking his eyes on the boy underneath him. A light streak of sweat ran alongside his hairline and the fringe of his dark hair had slightly dampened, loosening the curl of his ringlets. Impulsively, Quentin had brought up a hand and twirled one of those curls around a finger. Eliot sighed at that, smiling down at him, and Quentin felt something extraordinarily tender pass between them, something that settled in the pit of his stomach, making him simultaneously fluttery and impossibly static.

And that something felt dangerously like…

 _No, no_ , Quentin inwardly shook his head trying to banish the pesky four-letter word from his mind, knowing all the while that it was too late. He had already thought it. With the realization came an immediate knot of unwelcome anxiety. A _re you quite ready to be this vulnerable? It seemed to be whispering to him. Here you are- about to have the encounter you have been dreaming of since you first saw this man. But if you do this now, how can you be sure that it won’t break you in the end? How can you be sure that_ he _won’t break you?_

Momentarily the unwelcome thoughts were driven back by Eliot’s fingers, which had slipped down into his briefs and wrapped around his shaft. Quentin gasped as Eliot began to stroke him, his cock quickly becoming coated with his own slickness. The desire he felt had not diminished with his sudden panic, but rather the two coexisted in an agonizing mix of arousal and fear, each one growing steadily with every stroke of Eliot’s hand along his length. Quentin couldn’t bring himself to pull away, his body urging him mercilessly onward, his hips thrusting in time to the steady pumps of Eliot’s hand on his cock. Yet the mere comprehension of just how much he wanted it, all of it, was uncontrollably frightening.

Eliot had been moving steadily downwards for sometime now and Quentin jerked when he felt a rush of hot breath over his lower abdomen and a tongue flickering along the edge of his briefs, which themselves were sliding down past his hips. Quentin wondered for a moment how Eliot was managing to remove his underwear while one of his hands was full of Quentin’s cock and the other had lingered to trace patterns on his stomach, but realized quickly that the older magician must be using his telekinetic powers to remove them. Then he felt the hot sweep of Eliot’s tongue along the tip of his head and cried out loudly, knowing that he was lost, unhinged and entirely at the mercy of Eliot’s whims…

… Things had been progressing so quickly since they came up to the bedroom that Eliot was in a bit of a pleasant shock. All the tension and build up over the past few days had finally come to this- Quentin, naked and aroused; on his bed; under him and entirely willing to do just about anything. As much as he enjoyed ravaging the younger man, Eliot knew that most of his current excitement was due to the knowledge that Quentin actually felt something for him- that it wasn’t just a bi-curious college experience. He could see it in his eyes when they met his; could virtually smell it off of him.

It was funny to think about just how much he had been obsessing the night before over being unwanted, when this adorable boy actually snuck into his room in the morning to leave a note with all his contact information. Eliot found this both funny and cute, especially seeing the lengths that Quentin had gone to to try and get the note back after realizing that Eliot hadn’t seen it yet. This was it, the culmination of weeks of pining and restlessness. No more mindless guessing games, no more asking the is he or isn’t he question.

The only thing that concerned Eliot right now was what he was going to do with Quentin. And there was so damn much that he wanted to do with him- _to_ him- that he knew he couldn’t fit it all into one session even if he tried. He tried to focus on the fact that this would be new to Quentin and that he should mellow it down this time. Yet inside him he felt an overwhelming possessiveness unlike anything he ever felt for a partner before. Normally he was content to switch up roles in the bedroom, but this time he knew he wanted the control. He would be Quentin’s first and that thought alone made his cock leak and ache in anticipation. Eliot stroked the other boy’s erection, drinking in every small reaction his touch produced. Quentin looked an absolute mess right now and Eliot loved it.  
Eliot began to drift downwards, fully intent on wrapping his lips around Quentin’s erection and sucking him dry. He wanted to know what Quentin would taste like, how he would twitch and quiver while exploding into his mouth. Eliot knew he was good with his tongue- it wouldn’t take long to make the other man cum. He could bet his life on the fact that Quentin never had a really good blowjob before. And when that was over, he’d take the rest, working his cock slowly inside the boy’s tight opening, stretching him out inch by delicious inch until he was ready to be filled up. He’d be careful and gentle, coaxing Quentin to relax and trust him, showing him just how wonderful it could be to be fucked by someone who loved you. Eliot didn’t know if he could say those words yet, but he certainly could show them in the one way he knew best of all.

With a quick thought, Eliot had Quentin’s- and his own- briefs sliding off down his legs and leaned his face lower, brushing his tongue over the boy’s straining cock, tasting the bittersweet beads of moisture at its tip. He heard Quentin cry out loudly at the feeling, his voice hoarse with pleasure. Yet something else struck Eliot in that moment, namely that his lover’s body had gone suddenly tense- and not in a way that he wanted. This was an anxious kind of tension signaling that something wasn’t quite right. Eliot paused, internally collecting himself and trying not to panic, before slowly lifting his head and sitting up. He observed Quentin calmly, noting the boy’s flushed face and the hint of fear in his wide brown eyes. Eliot felt a nauseous sensation in his stomach, inwardly chiding himself for moving this too quickly. Had he read Quentin wrong somehow? This was not the look he wanted to see in the other’s eyes.

“Q,” he said very softly, reaching out a hand to brush Quentin’s hair away from his face. “Is everything ok? Have I done something you don’t like?”

“N-no,” Quentin shook his head, “I swear it’s not you. You’re ...perfect. It’s me I..” he seemed to lose the words he was trying to say. Eliot repositioned himself so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping both arms around Quentin’s waist and hugging him close. The younger man collapsed against his chest, his face buried in Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot waited patiently for several long moments before Quentin spoke again.

“It’s just that… my first time with a girl hadn’t been all that special. None of the times really had been and with you it’s like, like I don’t have control of myself, y’know?” Quentin was saying this into his shoulder, his breath tickling Eliot’s skin. “I feel like we’re about to do this thing and it’s literally going to mean everything to me and if it’s just a temporary attraction for you..I- I don’t know what I will do.”

Quentin looked up at him, waiting for Eliot to say something, but the older magician remained silent, allowing the other to continue.

“I know this is the worst possible timing,” Quentin gestured to their current state of undress, “And I do want this. So fucking much. I’m just… afraid of what I feel. Afraid to lose myself.”

Eliot considered him earnestly, chewing his lip in thought. His hands on Quentin’s back started to move in slow reassuring strokes. He knew that he could say certain things right now that would convince the younger man to continue what they had started. He could spin his words in such a way that would coax Quentin into a sweet surrender. But Eliot recognized that particular look in Quentin’s eyes, equal parts desire and despair. It was as though he was looking at a younger version of himself, all those many years ago, trembling in another man’s arms, both turned on and frightened by his inner turmoil. Except the man he was with didn’t hesitate to say the right words to have him on his back and, in the end, those words had been lies. He knew that he would never do the same thing to Quentin, but he would rather prove himself first and deserve the intimacy that would follow instead of taking him now while he was vulnerable. If he did, then this anxiety his would-be lover felt would just fester like a sore, tainting that pure and wonderful thing that was happening between them. So he would pull back and wait until a time when both of them had said the things neither of them were yet ready to say.

“Then we are going to stop for now,” Eliot said firmly, leaning over to brush his nose against Quentin’s in a light eskimo kiss.

“Are you sure? You’re not… upset with me?” Quentin seemed uncertain.

“Not at all,” Eliot reassured him with a smile, grazing the other's jaw chastely with his lips. Quentin sighed, his body relaxing in Eliot’s arms. “And Q?”

“Hmm?”

“This isn’t a passing attraction for me. This is as real as real gets and I’ll wait however long it takes for you to see that.”

Quentin smiled, the same bright smile that Eliot saw this morning when Quentin had rounded the corner of the Cottage and had first seen him. Simultaneously they leaned over to each other, mouths colliding in a kiss that was both long and infinitely tender.

As the intense arousal drained from his body, Eliot once again felt just how tired he really was and a quick glance at the bags under Quentin’s eyes told him that the other must also be exhausted.

“I have a good idea- let’s fucking sleep. We’ve both been up way too long,” he proposed.

“That would be great except it’s like what, two in the afternoon?” Quentin laughed and motioned to the light outside the window. “Don’t you have P.A. in like an hour?”

Eliot flicked a wrist, causing the curtain on his window to snap shut, plunging them into a soothing darkness.

“Fuck P.A.” Eliot grumbled, pulling them both back down into a horizontal position. Another swift thought had the blankets tucking in comfortably around them and the last thing Eliot remembered as he fell heavily into slumber was the light pressure of an arm settling around his waist and the sharp edge of a discarded note digging into his shoulder blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I have ever drawn anything out for so long in my life. But everyone is now happy and they get to take a nap for like 30 hours. There is a small epilogue planned that's also probably going be ultra fluffy and then that's it for this fic :P Also- side note, I don't think Eliot actually has to make any gestures in order to move things with his telekinesis but I do think its more of a theatrical accompaniment that he is fond of.


	6. Glory In the Eyes of a Young Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E & Q waking up in the morning after their intense emotional encounter of the day before :O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have been meaning to finish this up eons ago, but it just kept getting put on the back burner. Nevertheless, here is the wrap up for this fic, coming months later. Be warned that this is just pure fucking Fluff, so if you vomit I am sorry! Anyway, enjoy the ending.

Eliot had been asleep for so long that finally opening his eyes turned out to be a painful endeavour. He almost wondered if anything he remembered from yesterday had actually happened, but the fact that he had been pushed all the way to the edge of his bed confirmed the reality of it all. Quentin took up pretty much the rest of the space, splayed out on Eliot’s bed on a diagonal angle. He also seemed to have wrapped the majority of Eliot’s blankets around himself. The younger man was lying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, breathing heavily still. Had it been anyone else, Eliot would have been annoyed at being forced to the edge of his own bed, but the concept of Quentin being in his bed at all was so novel and wonderful that it made up for it.

Eliot did make a mental note to figure something out about this small bed-hogging predicament, since he intended to make having Quentin in his bed a regular thing.

Eliot yawned and stretched, sitting up. The darkness in the room was so deep and the quietness of the Cottage so total that he assumed it must be very late indeed. Sure enough, when he caused a small light to flicker out between his fingers, the wall clock told him it was 4 am. Eliot was surprised at how long he’d slept. Normally he would have to be coming off of a very long drug binge in order to sleep for a solid fourteen hours. Not like he minded. Something else caught his eye and he looked over at his dresser mirror, immediately having to suppress a laugh.

“OH MY GOD! THIS IS SO CUTE I AM GOING TO GO VOMIT KTHX! XOX <3 P.S.- I AM SOOOO MAKING YOU GO TO ALL YOUR CLASSES TOMORROW!- LOVE, MARGO.”

This was written in a dark shade of magenta lipstick over the glass surface of the mirror.

Eliot kept chuckling as he cast a small incantation to make the writing erase itself. No need to make Quentin embarrassed. He also decided to make new wards for his room, seeing as Margo knew her way through the current ones and clearly had no concept of personal space and privacy when it came to her best friend. He didn’t mind it before but something told him that he would be spending a lot of time in this room doing disgustingly cute things like cuddling and holding hands. He also knew that he didn’t want to share his time with Quentin with anyone else. _Sorry, Bambi. You’ll have to take the backseat for a bit._

Gently using his telekinesis, Eliot rolled Quentin into a more accommodating position without waking the boy up and slid back under the blankets, nuzzling his face in the other’s shoulder and showering it with light kisses. It was a measure of his attraction, he figured, that he totally didn’t mind the fact that Quentin’s hair badly needed a wash.

Eliot didn’t fully go back to sleep, but he enjoyed tranquilly dozing beside Quentin for the next couple of hours, waiting until such a time that he should start getting up in earnest. When at last the sky behind the curtained window began to lighted, Eliot sighed and started sitting up again. It was a marvel of marvels that Quentin had been sleeping like a rock that entire time, moving only to unconsciously lean into Eliot’s caresses while the older man traced patterns on his skin, waiting for the dawn to break.

The light of the early morning beamed from under the curtains and Quentin squirmed, scrunching up his face and burying it into a pillow. Eliot laughed and whispered in his ear:

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be getting up soon, doll.”

“Eliot?” Quentin rose up on his elbows and sleepily looked at the older man. “I thought I had dreamt it... I have been asleep so long.”

“Are you going to run off on me now?” Eliot raised an eyebrow, throwing a leg lazily around Quentin’s hips.

“Hah, no.” Quentin bit his lip after giving a nervous laugh. “For fuck’s sake, if you’re willing to have me I am not going anywhere... well, except maybe class.”

“Yeah that might be a good idea,” Eliot replied with some bitterness, remembering the four he had missed yesterday. “I have to come up with some damn brilliant explanations for some stuffy professors,” he sighed and stretched, considering getting out of bed.

  
“What song were you singing?”

  
Eliot hadn’t expected that question.

  
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Quentin was giving him a strange look.

  
“Yesterday morning in the shower. You were singing something... it's stuck in my head.”

  
Eliot had to think back a second before it came to it.

  
“‘One Song, Glory,’ from Rent. I starred in it in High School. It’s this musical about a group of friends in New York-”

  
“I know what Rent is,” Quentin sighed with fake exaggeration. “I am not entirely uncultured. Just don’t remember all the songs very well. Did you play that lead guy then? The one with the guitar?”

“Roger, yes.” Eliot bit back a laugh. “Twice, actually. The image was fitting at the time since I was going through a punk phase back then- primarily because I was poor.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory.

  
“That’s hard to imagine,” Quentin’s eye’s crinkled at the edges.

  
“What me in shitty clothes or me playing a stock straight character?”

 

“Both if I am being honest.”

  
“Yeah well... That was growing up in Indiana for you. Only way I could get away with being in drama club was if I stuck to straight roles. Not that I am complaining since the music was still fabulous.”

  
The comment made Quentin crack up and fall back unto the pillows laughing. _He looks good_ , Eliot thought, s _urrounded by my silk sheets like this_.  
Without thinking, Eliot brought a hand down to cup Quentin’s face, rising up himself so that he hovered slightly above the other boy. Quentin stopped laughing and looked up, his eyes, no longer shaded by dark circles, were bright and shining when they met Eliot’s.  
When Eliot opened his mouth next, he sang softly, his deep voice vibrating tenderly around them:

 

 _One song, glory, one song_  
_Before I go, glory_  
_One song to leave behind_  
_Find one song, one last refrain, glory_  
_From the pretty boy front man_  
_Who wasted opportunity_  
_One song, he had the world at his feet_  
_Glory in the eyes of a young boy, a young boy_  
_Find glory, beyond the cheap coloured lights_  
_One song, before the sun sets_  
_Glory on another empty life_  
_Time flies, time dies_  
_Glory, one blaze of glory_  
_One blaze of glory, glory_

 

“Holy shit, El,” Quentin was mesmerized. “I... I don’t even know what to say. That was. Fucking amazing.” He wrapped his arms around Eliot’s neck.

Eliot had heard plenty of compliments before, but somehow this one was the only one that really mattered.

  
Glory was the word of the day: because with Quentin lying under him, beaming up in admiration, the world truly seemed a glorious place.

  
“Say that you are mine now?” Eliot suggested, lowering his face down to Quentin's.

  
“I am yours,” Quentin whispered, eyes closing shut, right before their lips sealed the contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queliot accomplished XD


End file.
